


spirits in my head and they won’t go

by craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)



Category: South Park
Genre: Ghosts, Haunting, It's much cuter than these tags are making it out to be damn it, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Ouija, Spirits, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wiccan-inspired, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 08:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/pseuds/craigtherewhoisahomosexual
Summary: If you had asked Craig if he expected to summon a ghost his first night in his (and Clyde’s) newest apartment, he would’ve answered no. He would’ve been wrong.





	spirits in my head and they won’t go

The day started normally enough. They signed the lease, said goodbye to a rather large chunk of money, “think of all the Taco Bell we could’ve got with that,” Clyde added mournfully, and started to move their shit in. They got most of the boxes into the little 2 bedroom and even started to unpack, but then Clyde pulled out a bottle of stoli… and things went a little hazy after that as several shots, as well as poorly-mixed drinks, were had.

Craig ended up laying on the floor, head a bit spinny, staring at the carpet and humming as he sipped messily at his shitty solo cup. “Clyde, are we too old to be getting drunk at 7pm all alone in our own damn home?” he asked somewhat rhetorically as they had already done so. They were sophomores in college now. Craig thought, with not an insignificant amount of trepidation, that they had to start getting their lives together this year. Damn.

“Apparently not,” Clyde offered, shrugging as he dropped down from the sofa, holding his bag with a grin. “Stop worrying about that, fuckhead, I have a surprise.” Craig rolled over with his interest piqued, half sitting up with a grunt and setting his drink to the side out of inadvertent spilling range. Then, Clyde pulled out a goddamn ouija board.

“Oh god, noooo,” Craig said immediately, shaking his head with a groan. “Isn’t that stuff cursed or something?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Clyde huffed, placing it between them and fumbling with the planchette. “It’ll be fun, c’mon, pussy,” he taunted. Craig rolled his eyes and obediently stretched out so he was touching the wood piece too.

“Alright, fine. How do we start?” Craig questioned.

Clyde briefly bit his lip. “Er— well. Uh. I guess we just invite the spirits or some dumb shit? Yo! Ghosts and other ghouls, come talk to us!” They waited a few moments, then leaned in as the planchette slowly spelled  _ H E L L O _ with their hands.

“Hello,” Craig parroted with a derisive snort. “Who are you?” The cursor moved ‘itself’:  _ B I L L Y M A Y S _ . “Oh, great. You gonna sell us something?” They both dissolved into giggles, briefly pulling away from the board.

“I got one,” Clyde said, “how did you die?” Once again, the planchette slid across several letters for  _ E A T I N G A S S _ . Craig started cackling, full-on belly laughs that only ever seemed to come out when he was drunk and around his best friend. Clyde regarded it in mock seriousness, lips twitching. “Hm, what a champ. Truly, dying doing god’s work.”

“Oh, oh, my turn,” Craig wheezed, pausing to brush a few tears off his face. “Um, okay. How do you feel right now?” They both helped move the cursor to spell  _ LIT F A M _ . “Damn dude, us too!” They both took a second to pause and Craig used this time to gulp down the rest of his drink. “How about: why are you still here?” Craig suggested.

This time the planchette was jerkier, and faster, and Craig offered a weird look at Clyde, except Clyde was giving him the same expression. The board declared  _ T O C A U S E M I S C H I E F _ . They both sat in silence for a second, clearly a bit shocked.

“Oh? Okay. Hm, how do you usually do that?” Clyde asked cautiously. The planchette was even faster this time, and Craig wanted to yank his hands off but felt almost unable to. It spelled  _ I L I K E T R I P P I N G B E S T. _

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing? That’s not funny,” Craig grumbled with a scowl, pulling back and feeling better as soon as his hands were off the board.

“Me?! What are you playing at?” Clyde retorted, shaking his head. “I thought you got the joke with the lit thing.” Craig looked uneasily at the board, sitting innocuously enough.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do those last 2 answers,” Craig told him firmly. Clyde glanced at the ouija nervously too now.

“Pinky swear?” he asked solemnly. It was a smart move. They hadn’t ever lied on a pinky swear, it went against everything their friendship meant.

They’d kissed, once, at the beginning of middle school. Clearly sensing Craig was heavily bothered by something, Clyde had asked for nothing but true honesty with a serious pinky swear. After locking pinkies for a moment, Craig had confided, nervous and shaky to the point of near sickness in the middle of a sleepover, that he had never ever liked a girl, even the one he ‘dated’.

“It’s okay if you haven’t seen any girls you like yet, it just means you’re not ready yet,” Clyde had tried to reassure.

“No, no, because I think I like boys,” Craig had exploded to the ceiling, shivering and immediately hiding his face with a groan. It was quiet for a couple seconds. Then Clyde had rolled over to face him and he’d said something so funny and just,  _ Clyde _ , that he couldn’t help but feel instantly at ease.

“Oh thank god, dude. I’d have no damn chance with these ladies with you around, available and straight.” Then he’d gotten a little more serious, shuffling closer from his sleeping bag. “Why do you just think you like boys? Wouldn’t you know?”

“Well, I kissed a girl once, and I didn’t feel anything, but it’s not like I’ve ever kissed a boy,” Craig had grumbled, a little self-conscious. Clyde had decided, immediately, it was up to him to remedy that. He’d grabbed Craig and abruptly pulled him into a 10 second, chapped lips, clumsy kiss at just after midnight, and Craig had known a few things instantaneously: 1) god, he definitely liked boys, and 2) kissing Clyde was not something he wanted to do again, despite the first fact.

They’d broken apart, Craig in shock and Clyde grinning. “So, did you feel anything?”

“I’m gay,” Craig blurted. “Also if you ever do that again, I’ll punch you.” They’d dissolved into laughter and hugged it out. The pinky swear was their truth time signifier since.

“Pinky swear. Wasn’t me, Clyde,” Craig told him, as they locked pinkies for a moment. Was it a little lame? A couple of sophomores in college using a pinky swear after getting hammered and playing with an ouija board? Yes. Did Craig give a fuck that it was? No.

“Uh. Not good, then, not good at all,” Clyde hummed carefully. “I’m dumping this thing in the outside dumpster, and let’s burn it for good measure, maybe?” Craig agreed. They lit the board on fire on the sidewalk, watched it burn half-heartedly for 10, freezing-my-goddamn-ass-off minutes, dumped snow on it, then chucked it into the bin. They both figured that was the end of that. Apparently, Craig and Clyde were no paranormal investigators.

They both retired to bed normally that night (Craig’s had bedsheets and shit, Clyde slept on a bare mattress like a fucking animal), and even woke up just fine, but it was undeniable the apartment felt a bit… different than to when they had first entered the previous day.

First off, the lights flickered at least once an hour. Not just one, or even the same area. No light in the house seemed to be safe. It was annoying as it was perplexing, and even a quick call to maintenance confirmed their lines were all working just fine. Then, their brand new bookshelf just up and collapsed, no prompting, out of fucking nowhere, breaking their change jar and sending shit everywhere. Clyde swept up the glass and pennies as Craig gingerly picked up books and trinkets. Luckily, nothing else happened the rest of the evening, but Craig felt… watched.

The next morning, half-asleep and grumpy as he stumbled into the shower, he jerked awake, thinking he saw a shadowy form in the mirror. Craig rubbed his eyes and checked the entire bathroom. Nothing. He still showered more quickly than usual, clearly uneasy. Clyde mentioned that all the cupboards had been open when he came out of the restroom while Craig was gone. They steadfastly refused to mention the ouija board.

Sunday was blessedly quiet, at least, the only truly odd thing being that the tv volume kept changing, going from whisper soft to blaring so loud the stand shook. They both went to bed early, and couldn’t fall asleep for a long while. Classes started the next day.

The first week of school was a whirlwind as always, but now their brand spanking new apartment was seemingly haunted on top of that, too. Craig baby-proofed all the kitchen cabinets to prevent the whole slam routine they seemed to want to do lately, and Clyde made sure they never left anything breakable out on any countertops. They both refused to say the word ghost, let alone poltergeist.

The feeling of being watched persisted and squeezed in a nice sense of existential dread on top of the already stressed feelings of having classes and studying once more. Still, Craig and Clyde did their absolute best to ignore their new, unwelcome roommate. It was a really, truly fantastic way to deal with things you didn’t want to happen: ignore it completely. And it actually worked for the most part.

Well, until Craig had something physically grab ahold of his leg when he tried to hop into bed Friday night. He immediately lashed out with a scream, lurching onto his mattress and clinging to it with wide eyes. There was nothing on the floor, and when he yelled for Clyde to come in and check under his bed with a flashlight (Craig warily curled into himself broodily by the headboard as Clyde laughed at him until he threw a pillow at his head), Clyde confirmed there was nothing but a few dust bunnies laying in wait. Half-thinking he’d imagined it, Craig attempted to put it out of his mind.

Frowning, he checked his leg where he was quite certain he’d been touched by something. Oh. There was a small rip in his favorite pajama pants, a neat gash that ended in raggedy strips, very clearly from claw marks. Fuck this.

Clyde was asleep by the time Craig slid open his laptop and started furiously googling. After 3 hours lost in a horrifying flurry of information definitely confirming they were haunted by something very much not friendly and probably pissed off they’d screwed around with an ouija board, Craig was a fair bit frightened. Apparently, the fact their new house guest had already started trying physical harm wasn’t the best sign ever. That just wouldn’t do.

Craig googled solutions next. The number one recommendation seemed to be bringing in a professional or risk angering the spirit into more aggressive tactics. No thank you. Feeling just a little foolish, he stared dubiously at the contact email for the ‘spiritual cleanser’ in their local area. Craig was actually debating on clicking away and dismissing the whole thing as a wild fever dream brought on by first-week college stress, but then his eyes caught on his ripped bottoms again. Tightening his jaw, he determinedly clicked the URL listed and drafted up a short but polite email to javajockey52@gmail.com.

_ Hey! So! My friend and I may have accidentally summoned a poltergeist? It’s mostly just been an annoying little bitch so far, but it grabbed me today and ripped my pjs. We’d really love to get rid of it ASAP. I’ve never dealt w any of this stuff before, so idk how/if you do payment or how you take care of the ghosts but we really need some help. Please feel free to get in touch with me through this email, and here’s my number, too! _

Craig added his phone number and a polite goodbye, then, seeing it was nearly 2 in the damn morning, quickly finished getting ready for bed. There was a text waiting for him when he returned 15 minutes later, and Craig was actually surprised, considering the time.

_ No payment necessary for something so minor, unless you wanna buy me lunch or s/t. It’s good practice for me and it means I don’t have to worry about you guys getting killed after your little visitor attracts a real demon. I can be there around 10 am for a standard sweep, I’ll bring my bag. Just let me know your addy! _

Craig quickly answered with their home address and a big thank you, noting that he’d need to dig some cash out. javajockey52 answered with a single thumbs up emoji and Craig sighed. Apparently, that was that. Their apartment would finally be goddamn normal again. He slept the best he had all week, pleased that they’d be sorting out the little shit that had torn his favorite pair of lazy pants.

Morning came fast, and Craig showered and shoved down some toast and juice like a certified, proper adult before throwing on a hoodie and jeans. javajockey52 texted him saying they’d be there in 5, and Craig allowed himself to briefly wonder just who the hell would be showing up at his doors. He was torn between a serious priest with a bible in hand, a little, old lady like in Poltergeist, and a fucking ghostbuster. When a firm rap of knuckles sounded on the door, Craig quickly decided on a priest.

He opened the door with a mix of trepidation and curiosity, setting his eyes on a blond man that looked about 150% done with life. His hair was a wild mess barely restrained by a black bandana, his arms were covered in way too many LEGO-print bandaids with a wrapped bandage on his right wrist, and a huge amethyst dangled around his neck. A crop top so loose it fell off one shoulder hung from his slighter but muscled frame, coupled with yoga pants with a rip in the left knee and a pair of scuffed-up converse with x-eyed smiley faces Sharpie’d on the toes. Silver glinted in his ears and from his belly button where it peeked from his shirt, his nails were painted black, and he smelled overwhelmingly of coffee grinds.

Craig would’ve been certain this guy had the wrong house— if it wasn’t for the look on his face. He was pale, and his eyes were pretty, even if he had bags heavy and dark enough to go on a first class, international flight. But his expression said, quite clearly and explicitly, ‘I’ve killed a man once and I’d do it again in a goddamn heartbeat.’

He twitched once, then pushed his way in beside Craig politely and beelined for the kitchen table, setting down his messenger bag with a sigh. “Heya, ngh, I’m javajockey52, but I’d much prefer you call me Tweek.” Then he immediately pulled out a huge bundle of sage and lit it up. “Let’s just start with the easy measures.” Craig slowly closed the door, watching Tweek wave the smoldering plant around the kitchen before traipsing through the living room, and then down the hall. After smoke began to thoroughly saturate the living space, he set it beside the sink on the stainless steel to burn itself out.

“Craig,” he blurted, feeling miles behind as Tweek fussed with the sage for a minute, making sure it wouldn’t go out too quickly. “I’m Craig.”

“Hm,” Tweek sighed, chewing on his bottom lip and wincing as he made it rip and bleed. “My pleasure. Luckily it’s not a really heavy presence. Ngh. It’s a minor poltergeist of sorts, small, sneaky, pretty weak. Apparently, it really likes pushin’ shit?” He twitched again, one eye sliding shut before popping back open as he stared intently at the hallway. “Little bitch,” he huffed, turning to his bag again and taking out a mason jar. “Saffron-laced salt, mmph.” He unscrewed the cap and sprinkled a half palmful in each corner of the house, going so far as to open both his and Clyde’s bedroom. Tweek paid no attention to his sleeping roommate as he dumped a tiny pile of salt in his corners, then came back to his bag to put away the jar.

“That should be pretty thorough?” His eyes fixed on the hallway again, a shudder going through him as he grumbled.“Ugh. This one’s surprisingly stubborn. You must’ve really pissed it off.” Tweek hefted a big black log rock thing out of his knapsack and putting it on the kitchen table.

“That’s black tourmaline. It’ll help protect you from that annoying twat as well as prevent him from finding friends. I’ll have to be back in a week to recollect it though, it was like $45. Gah, you can vacuum up the salt tomorrow, it’ll have done its job and can be cleaned up by then.” He seemed to space out for a second, gaze going blank as he vacantly looked at the sofa. Tweek came back to himself with a full-body shiver, shaking his head. “Shit. Alright, final step! This will help it get the fuck out right now.”

Craig had yet to say another word, slightly intimidated as well as completely fascinated by this enigma of a man. He was tongue-tied pretty thoroughly by his attraction, which was, unfortunately, not something he was new to. Tweek pulled out an old brass cowbell, finding the little mallet to go with it. He grinned crookedly at Craig, and oh, what a fucking nice smile, then abruptly started clanging his chosen instrument. “Yo! Ghosts, ngh, spirits! Get the FUCK out of this house! You’re not welcome! You gotta fucking go! Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!” Tweek yelled, accompanied by aggressive cowbell ringing.

Clyde, bewildered, alarmed, and half-asleep, stumbled out of his room looking panicked. He stopped dead at the sight of their spiritual cleanser, simply staring a few moments as Tweek continued his musical routine. Then he sighed, big, heavy, and utterly defeated, gave a Look to Craig, and slumped back to his room. Craig returned his attention to Tweek, who was sticking his cowbell back into his bag. He waited almost anxiously to see what else would come out of that bag of mysteries, but it was just a loose, gauzy scarf and a small, green gem. Tweek wrapped the former around his neck and then glanced over at Craig, handing him the rock and smiling.

“That’s aventurine. It’s good luck. Keep it, just ‘cos you’re cute. Ngh. That should be absolutely everything. Leave the tourmaline out all week, try to make sure it gets some, mm, sun, yeah? I’ll be back to get it then. Also? Stop fucking with ouija boards. It’s always a bunch of dumb, white kids. Always, inevitably: young, dumb, white kids. Anyway. Catch ya later,” he said cheerfully, throwing his bag over his shoulder and exiting in a whirl of scarf. Craig was left almost gaping, feeling flustered and a little bit disappointed. Hopefully, he could redeem himself when Tweek returned for his weird black rock.

Clyde came out for real after an hour or so, immediately going to Craig. “I assume our poltergeist is gone? Why the fuck did you hire such a weirdo?” he sighed, tugging the milk from the fridge and making himself a bowl of cereal. Craig rolled his eyes.

“So he’s a little… strange. I didn’t even pay him. He got rid of our ghost,” he huffed stubbornly. Clyde froze mid-bite, pinning a suspicious stare on his friend. Craig stared back impassively. Clyde set his spoon down with an indignant noise.

“Oh fuck no! Craig, absolutely not. You cannot like him, oh my god.” Clyde fixed him with a scrutinizing glare. “Oh shit, you’re already in it. You’re already deep. Really? For that, well, freak?”

“You don’t start with that,” Craig growled, surprising even himself with the conviction behind his words. “He can’t control the tics. You remember Thomas? Fuck off with the names. It’s not cool.” Clyde put his hands up, looking sheepish.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was shitty of me. But still, the dude thinks he sees ghosts? He left that,” he said slowly, pointing at the chunk of black tourmaline dubiously. “What the fuck?”

“I mean, it seems to have worked,” Craig pointed out flatly. “I don’t feel creeped out or worked up like there’s a goddamn demon watching. So.” Clyde conceded that point as well, taking another bite of his cereal.

“Still. That’s your type then? Blonds with issues?” Clyde asked dryly. Craig flipped him off with a heavy sigh and wry smirk.

“You can’t say that,” he protested weakly.

“Well… Kenny, Thomas, this guy now… the only mold-breaker I’m getting from this is Stan,” Clyde challenged. “And me. But I don’t think a middle school ‘oh shit, am I gay?’ kiss really counts, does it?” Craig shuttered his eyes at him.

“Don’t bring up Stan, asshole,” he grumbled. “And his name is Tweek.”

“...” Clyde stared at him, raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “No comment. Okay. Fair. I’ll leave it be. But damn, you sure know how to pick ‘em, fucker,” he snorted, finishing his cereal and heading to the sink. Craig tugged his hat lower over his face, grumbling half-heartedly.

He googled crystal meanings that night, then hopped on Amazon the beginning of the next week to order a small rose quartz piece. It wasn’t much, but. He was pretty sure Tweek would understand it. It was supposedly the crystal of love and opened up heart chakra or something or other. It was pretty to look at, at least. He may have also added a small lapis lazuli. It was just so gorgeous, like a little piece of the sky was plucked out. Craig couldn’t resist anything space-related. He was going to school for astronomy/astrophysics.

The crystals arrived that Friday, and he opened the box immediately to admire them. Clyde sighed, gave him a disgusted look, and retreated to his room, muttering about rocks. Craig ignored him, happily placing the newcomers by the chunk of black tourmaline along with the aventurine. They sat there until Sunday, when Tweek texted him at 2 pm: hey, can I swing by and grab the log? I’ll be out of your hair quickly, I swear! Craig swiftly answered affirmatively, clearing his throat and briefly checking his hair in the bathroom mirror as Clyde watched, beyond amused, from the kitchen table.

“Fuck off,” Craig said with no real heat. Clyde shrugged smugly, then laughed as a familiar knock came and Craig almost shit himself. He hurried to open the door, revealing Tweek. He’d kept the bandaids (although they were dinosaurs this time) and the fiercely tired expression, but the ripped shorts, fishnets, big boots with about 55 zippers, and black cowl-neck sweater were all new. He brushed in with a faint smile, rubbing briefly at his forehead before zipping over to the tourmaline.

“Hi! Thanks so much for not stealing or breaking it.” He picked it up and put in his backpack, which was different from the one he’d had last time. This one looked much more suited to actual schoolwork. “If that’s all…”

“Wait,” Craig blurted. Clyde quietly stifled a laugh as a cough from the couch. “I have something for you?” He quickly pulled out his wallet and fumbled for a 20. “I said I’d buy you lunch, yeah?” Craig offered, and Tweek accepted, surprised but pleased as he took the bill and tucked it into his pocket. “Uh, also. This.” He set the rose quartz quickly in his palm, cheeks heating up.

Tweek looked at it blankly for a minute. Craig desperately, abruptly wished god would strike him down into fucking dust with one finger. Then Tweek smiled, looking up with a glint in his eyes. “I accept. I’d love to go on a date. Do you like coffee?”

“I— uh. Yes?” Craig answered, a bit dumbfounded. “I do, it’s nice sometimes.”

“Would you like to go with me to get some?” Tweek offered casually, slipping the rose quartz into his bag and grinning at Craig’s puzzlement. “Like, right now. I slammed a Red Bull earlier but it’s wearing off and I have an essay due at 8 pm,” he laughed like it hurt, shaking his head despairingly.

“Yes,” Craig accepted with hardly any hesitation. “I’d love to, 100%.” Tweek gestured at the door.

“Then let’s go! We can take Morticia.” Tweek led Craig out to a VW Beetle painted an almost ghastly shade of pink. At this point, Craig wasn’t even shocked. Tweek could turn and tell him he was an alien, or that the world would end tonight, and he’d probably just accept it at face value. Craig kinda dug the straightforwardness, the utterly unapologetic way Tweek carried himself.

“Your car is fucking ugly,” Craig told him as he strapped in. Tweek just snorted, tapping his hands on the steering wheel and sighing as he turned the car on and peeled out. He didn’t wear a seatbelt. Tweek wasn’t a bad driver,  _ per say _ , but he was reckless and he seemed more anxious on the road, channeling it into aggression. Craig was incredibly glad the Harbucks was only a 5-minute ride away.

Before the car had actually stopped, Craig lurched out and Tweek started laughing. “The first time I tried to drive my instructor around, mm, I actually made her puke,” he said, getting out as well. “I’m impressed.” Craig opened the door, hiding the faint tremble in his hands as Tweek accepted and brushed past him, going right to the cashier. He ordered an espresso and then hefted a 7-11 Big Gulp on the counter from his bag. “Can you fill this with the darkest roast you have? I’ll pay however much it is,” Tweek assured.

“It’s  _ you _ ,” she muttered, voice shaking, almost horrified. “They said you’ve been in once a day to have this cup filled. How are you not dead?” Tweek shrugged, pushing the cup closer.

“Please,” he said imploringly, fixing his eyes on her until she was forced to acquiesce. Satisfied, Tweek stuck a fiver in the tip jar before turning to Craig. “What would you like then?”

“Just a latte,” Craig found himself answering, staring at his date in muted shock as Tweek added that on.

“And a few cookies,” he finished, handing her a few bills. “Keep the change,” Tweek decided with a shrug, shivering as his eyes flitted to the corner of the room. His mouth drew tight and flat, and he determinedly made his way down to where his espresso was already waiting. Craig took the little packet of cookies from the cashier in his stead, trailing after Tweek like an afterthought as he found them a table. He immediately sat down in his chair, hunched over with a pained look on his face.

“Are you okay?” Craig asked cautiously, sitting opposite of him. Tweek didn’t answer, hands clenched on his knees as he shivered. After a few moments of breathless silence, he relaxed into a slump, sighing heavily before throwing the espresso back like a shot. “Uh, is that wise?” Craig was beginning to get antsy that this guy might actually keel over and die. What a shitty first date.

“Sorry,” Tweek said contritely, shoving his hands through his hair as his thigh began to jig. “When I can hear my heartbeat roaring in my ears I finally can’t hear them.”

“Who?”

“The fucking voices constantly whispering and begging and scraping up against my, fuck, eardrums. They’re all the ghosts or whatever entities that aren’t strong or here enough, they can’t actually form beyond like, annoying, ngh, tiny fucking wisps! But they’re so loud!” Tweek growled, staring at his hands and twitching. “Always there, always begging for attention and saying shit. Sometimes, sometimes it’s easier. It’s worried grandparents or sad scared kids who died too early and don’t fucking know why they’re here. Sometimes, though, gah! Sometimes it’s these horrid, horrid rasps that scrape against my fucking spine, whispering about how to kill, mutilate, torture, worse. Fuck! About hurting myself, ngh.”

Tweek was curled into himself, jaw tight and heartbeat rabbiting visibly in his throat. He was shaking but it didn’t seem weak. It seemed angry, defiant. Craig didn’t even know what to begin to say, having not considered anything like this being Tweek’s reality. Slowly, Tweek forced himself to relax, breathing deeply and stretching out his tense muscles. He looked up, his eyes locking steadily on Craig’s. They were dark.

“Most of the time I can get by. Honestly I hardly notice them during my daily life. White noise in the background. I used to beg them to stop, I used to try to tell them what they wanted to hear. Mmn. Some left but so much more came. I ignore now. It’s easier, the older I get, the more practice. I guess I was a weird baby. My parents said I was so quiet most of the time, unnaturally so, but sometimes I’d get in these screaming fits that seemed to drag on for hours. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have the voices,” he said, solemn. Tired. His cheeks looked so hollow, his eye bags even more prominent than usual. Tweek offered him a wan smile, then carefully took a sip from his Big Gulp of black coffee.

“That’s, wow.” Craig regarded him a moment. Tweek let him, unbothered as he took another drink.

“They’re at the absolute worst right before I fall asleep. They can tell I’m vulnerable, hn, maybe? I don’t know. But they get so excited and focused. I hate it. The caffeine means I only have to deal with that every few days instead of every night. Ah.” Tweek blinked then took a cookie from the packet with a faint smile. “It’s okay if you never contact me again after this,” he said slowly, calmly. “I’m a handful. I can barely handle myself most days. I know what I am, who I am. It’s, ngh, okay,” he said peacefully. “Cookie?”

“Sure,” Craig answered, accepting it and taking a slow, thoughtful bite. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really expecting all that.”

“Nobody ever does, trust me,” Tweek chuckled without a trace of humor. “But I like to try and get it out there early now. You’re taking it better than the shithead who dumped my coffee over my, agh, head, and called me a stupid prankster who needed to get a life.”

“I can see why you broach it so quickly,” he admitted, looking at him again. Tweek allowed it, unruffled, simply dunking half his cookie in his coffee like a fucking animal and eating it. Craig ducked his head and took a sip of his latte. “I wanted to ask,” he started cautiously. Tweek focused on him. “The bandaids, and Ive seen some scratches and stuff…?”

“Oh. That’s easy,” Tweek snorted. “Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Oh god, did he have a pet imp? A cryptid roommate? Craig wasn’t sure he could handle a whole lot more weirdness. He’d sort of hit his capacity by this point into their first damn date.

“My cockatiel. He sees spirits too. He doesn’t like them,” he said dryly. “I get, ah, scratched up fairly often? He’s got sharp nails and he loves to bite, it’s pretty much his favorite damn activity besides screaming and whistling the Ghostbusters theme. No biggie, just throw on a couple bandaids. I started getting the patterned ones for fun.” Tweek shrugged. “Why not add a little color to my really dull, boring world?” he deadpanned. Craig couldn’t help but crack a grin.

“So, I assume all the ghost-seeing stuff caused the whole…” Craig gestured broadly at Tweek. “That? The crystals, and sage, and all that shit?”

“Yes, that would be a correct assumption,” Tweek affirmed. Craig shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. Clyde was absolutely right; he did know how to pick them if the goal was fucked-up. “I hate to cut this, ugh, short,” Tweek apologized with a groan, “but there’s been a huge fucking shadow  _ something _ looming behind me since we walked in. It was here yesterday too, gah, but I was in and out quickly. It’s better if I don’t acknowledge it but it’s distracting when I’d much rather be focused on you. You mind if we bail? My room’s open, and I’ve got some powerful fucking protection there. I’ll even let you drive,” he said mischievously, eyes lighting up.

Tentatively, Tweek reached out to offer his keys. It was clear Craig had a choice; he could say no, leave now, retreat without consequence from this bizarre encounter. Craig looked at his hand for a very brief second, at the bandaids all over it, his chipped black polish, and bitten down stubby nails. Then he took the keys.

“I’d love to,” he said simply.

 

**Author's Note:**

> HEY SO ITS FINALLY STARTED LOL. idk if i'm doing chapters or oneshots or wtf is going on but uhhhhh expect more of this verse Fer Sure
> 
> Feel free to follow me at [my shitty tumblr](https://craigtherewhoisahomosexual.tumblr.com/)


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